Chapter 9 - THE BLUE ROOM
Margaret's house had been in the family for thirty years.
The blue room was a formal sitting room nobody used.
Blue wallpaper.
Blue rugs.
Blue curtains.
Police searched it under warrant.
Nothing.
Michael paced.
"Maybe she already found it."
Maria had given us one more clue.
Your father said the truth was behind the thing Margaret loved most.
Margaret loved portraits.
Especially one enormous oil painting of herself at forty.
Brooks looked at it.
"Take it down."
Behind the frame was a recessed compartment.
Inside: a blue ledger.
And a small recorder.
The ledger documented forty-two unauthorized transfers.
Margaret.
Charles.
Several shell companies.
Almost twenty-six million dollars.
Michael sat on the floor.
"My mother stole from all of us."
The recorder was worse.
Richard's voice.
Then Margaret.
"You can't remove me."
"I can and I will."
"You think Michael will choose Rachel over me?"
"This isn't about Rachel."
"It's always about Rachel now."
Richard sounded tired.
"Margaret, you forged trust distributions."
She replied, "I protected the family."
"By stealing?"
"By keeping control where it belongs."
Then Charles entered the recording.
"We should end this conversation."
Richard said, "You should call the police."
A chair moved.
Glass broke.
Then Richard coughed.
Hard.
The audio cut.
Michael stared at the recorder.
"My father died that night."
Brooks immediately called for Richard's medical records.
Margaret had reported his death at home.
No ambulance.
No autopsy.
Dr. Keller signed the certificate.
The same psychiatrist who fabricated my evaluation.
Brooks looked at Michael.
"We need to find your mother before she finds Maria."
My phone buzzed.
A live video.
Maria's room.
Empty bed.
Open window.
May you like
A message beneath it.
YOU WERE TOO LATE.
